Loser Lucy - A Christmas Carol
by This is The Phantom Lady
Summary: A young Sherlock is gloomy about the prospect of spending Christmas stuck at the boarding school. He's snowed in and his parents as well as his dear brother are all too busy with their lives. But he tries to make the best of it... Bloodied footsteps in the snow outside awakens his interest though, and reluctantly he has to save a life. At least he is not alone anymore.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a very cold December. Snow had fallen and had covered every surface in a thick blanket of white.

The young man held the heavy curtain aside with the back of his hand; looking out at the world; what of it his own eyes let him see. His upper lip raised in a snarl of annoyance.

The snow meant he was stuck. Stuck in his dorm room of the boarding school he was attending while his parents; and his older brother, were busy with their lives. He was being stored there; and he knew it all too well.

Everyone had gone home, or somewhere to be with their relatives for Christmas before the snow got too bad. Everyone but him.

He figured he'd be fine; though. He had quite a few books and he was working on a few experiments he would have been sad to leave unattended over the holidays anyhow… and if it all got too boring he had something to alleviate that too.

This was okay. At least that was what he had managed to convince himself of.

So why didn't it feel right?

Something caught his eyes however; and distracted his thoughts. Fresh Footsteps in the snow.

He glared at them.

They were leading towards the building. The person had been limping. No one at the school had a limp that bad. Especially no one who would be around now.

It was hard to tell from that distance but it could be spots of blood as well.

The feet that had left them behind seemed small. Not a man's then. Clearly none of the small boys were in the same situation as him.

A woman then. Quite possibly.

He drew a sigh. A bleeding woman; seeking refuge?

Curiosity got the better of him; and he didn't have much better to do than to investigate further.

So he darted out of his room, through the hall, down the stairs and all the way to the front door.

The wind was viciously biting at him the minute he opened it and he instantly regretted not having thought far enough to grab his coat.

He set his shoulders and braved the icy wind. Seeing the footprints up close it confirmed everything he had already gathered. And it was indeed red spots of blood.

So far so good. But where was the woman then? The footprints were new. They hadn't yet been consumed by the still falling snow.

He stood for a while judging the trajectory however jumbled. She had clearly moved towards the building. But he had not seen any blood stains inside. He would have noticed.

He looked to the front of the building, scanning it. She could not have vanished. She obviously hadn't flown away… and considering how badly she had been limping and stumbling jumping was out of the question.

And then he saw her. Under an arch sat a figure leaning against the wall. She was shivering violently and fresh blood was running from her nose.

She struggled to keep her eyes open and her cheeks seemed to be swollen.

Looking closer at her she seemed to be around 14 or 15 years of age but with her face in that state it was hard to tell. Just a couple of years younger than himself.

Her blue dress was torn and it was all she was wearing. And safe for the red blood colouring her, she was slowly turning cyanotic.

He approached her carefully; trying to figure out what to say to her.

"Are you okay?" the obvious choice. The stupid choice. No, she obviously wasn't.

She cowered hearing his voice; trying to scramble on her feet but her body wasn't cooperating with her.

"Hey. What happened to you?" He did all he could to soften his demeanour.

She was still shying away from him. Her body seemed to react on it's own accord. Her fear response was in control. He got no verbal responses from her other than hysteric breathing.

"Listen, you can't stay out here like that. You'll freeze to death" he spoke softly. He estimated within the next fifteen minutes she would have fainted; and that would have been fatal with these temperatures.

She grabbed at the wall, trying to claw her way away from him.

It reminded him more of the behaviour of a wounded animal than a human being.

She had been reduced to her instincts; however wrong they were.

"I mean it, you can't" he raised his brow. The cold air was doing its own work on him. He could barely imagine what it had done to her by now.

He looked around. There were no one to see, there was no one to help. He was her last hope. He had his chance to save her or walk away and let nature run it's course.

Oh hell.

He put his hand on her shoulder and she produced an ear-piercing scream. But he didn't move his hand. He let her scream it out.

"I'm going to lift you. You have to get inside" he informed her; barely finishing his sentence before he scooped her up in his arms. She was kicking, flailing and screaming but he held on to her; and he didn't let go of her before he carried her all the way up the stairs, down the hall and into his room and laid her on his bed.

On the way she had managed to bite into his shoulder; but he had bit back on the pain.

He couldn't get through to her consciousness and her hypothalamus was controlling her responses. It had chosen to fight now when flight proved impossible.

Despite her writhing he managed to wrap his blanket around her. After a few minutes of futile struggling against the blanket she somehow seemed to relax. He had wrapped it so tightly around her she couldn't move.

He went to turn the heating up further, but he never took her eyes off of her. He realized he needed to stop her bleeding somehow.

Not wanting to leave her alone so soon he grabbed one of his shirts and walked back to her.

"I'm sorry. This hurts, I know. But it's necessary" he said as he kneeled before her. He put the shirt towards her nose and pinched her nostrils. She made garbled noises of complaints; but she couldn't fight him.

The red blood soaked through the clean white fabric; staining it forever.

But eventually that did stop as well.

He realized she was staring at her. Her eyes were full of questions now that she was slowly becoming herself; waking up.

He removed the destroyed shirt. The bleeding had slowed now. If only she stayed still a while longer it would stop completely.

Her cracked lips moved but produced no words. Not even a sound.

He put his hand to her neck trying to find her pulse. He bit his lip. Considering how difficult it would be getting an ambulance out there she was better off staying warm.

He had found her in time.

Her wounds would heal in time… she had not lost enough blood for it to be lethal; according to his estimate.

He took a clean shirt and dipped it in the glass of water he had standing on his night stand and cleaned her face as carefully as he could. She winched in pain; but she was stoic. It almost seemed like her body had given up the fight.

"What is your name?" he blinked as he dapped the cloth under her chin and down her neck; wiping away the drying blood. The silence accompanied with the intimacy of the moment was becoming somehow awkward for him.

Her lips moved again. And after too long she managed to form a word.

"Loser" she croaked.

Oh. That was a bit rude, wasn't it? He had just saved her!

"Loser" she repeated, this time forcing a bit more of her voice through. She seemed to assume he hadn't heard or understood her the first time.

"Excuse me?" the brim of his nose crinkled in disgust. It was not exactly one of his favourite words… he had heard it once too often.

"Loser Lucy" her voice was failing again; having been strained enough from the screaming.

His jaw seemed to literally fall off it's hinges. Oh he had heard that name before as well. And slowly her face started to seem slightly familiar under all the swelling and the blood he was removing.

"Lucy?" he questioned. He dipped the shirt in the water again and wiped it over her lips. "I'm Sherlock" he let her know.

"Who did this to you?" he wiped her tangled hair out of her face to get better access to cleaning her up.

"Mummy…" she mumbled.

"You want your mother?" he asked. Her pupils dilated in shock. "She's not here, Lucy"

"No mummy" she whimpered. She rolled her shoulders; trying to escape the blanket that was ensnaring her.

"Did… did you mother do this?" He froze; holding the cloth against the side of her face.

"I'm sorry mummy, I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she looked past him; at someone who wasn't there. her eyes were welling up with tears. Tears that stung her angrily red cheeks.

"Lucy?" He shook her carefully. Her consciousness was slipping. Her eyes closed.

Using his fingers again he tested her pulse and with the back of his hand he felt for her breath. She had simply fainted.

Now not having to worry about her reactions he finished cleaning her face. He loosened the blanket and followed the bloody trail from her neck and lower.

His cheeks flushed. Maybe he should just leave it…

Her chest was rising and falling steadily. She seemed strangely peaceful; compared to before.

He decided not to clean further than the top of her dress before he wrapped the blanket around her again.

Not knowing what to do next he sat on the floor and watched her. Watching her chest move; watching her breathe…

His shoulder ached but he barely noticed it.

So. Her mother did that? He couldn't even imagine his own mother doing that. Okay… a slap once or twice; but that had been justified.

This. This lacked logic.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock lost track of time… He was so preoccupied with watching her he hadn't noticed he had been scratching his arm. It was such an annoying tick of his.

But just then he jumped startled. Lucy was waking up again and was whimpering. Again she seemed so much like a wounded animal.

She was shivering and sweat was beading on her brow.

Getting on his feet and leaning over her he realized he was running out of good ideas now. He wasn't equipped for dealing with this. Caring for a human being wasn't really within his area…

"Lucy. Lucy. Look at me" he ordered her. Her eyes were desperately searching the room.

He had done some self-studies in anatomy as a side interest to his chemistry studies… but this was not a book. This was reality. Stone cold reality.

Her eyes were swimming but tried to focus on his pale face. Oh what a relief. She was at least trying to respond to him.

"Does it hurt? Are you in pain?" he wondered. Her eyes closed again. "Lucy?" he grabbed her shoulder and shook her as harshly as he dared. He was panicking… a feeling he wasn't liking.

She wasn't dying on him, was she? She couldn't… and how would he explain that?

A wail from her told him that she was indeed still conscious; even though she might not have wanted to be… He bit into his plump bottom lip.

Her body temperature rising meant that the cold was no longer masking hair pain.

His eyes darted to the edge of the mattress of his bed; and what it hid. He had been holding on to that in case Christmas would get too difficult for him to handle.

He lifted the mattress and withdrew a leather wallet; and opened it carefully.

Sherlock stalled then. Was he really doing this? Was it necessary?

Her face contorted in pain, then she twitched. Moving her facial muscles only made it hurt more for her.

Oh hell.

He took the syringe in one hand and the vial in the other; inserting the cannula and withdrew half of his usual dosage; trying his best to calculate it by estimating her weight by eye. Carefully he pushed on the plunger and made sure there was no air left.

He hesitated again. He had the strongest urge to push the needle into his own veins; to relive that feeling the morphine gave him. It took physical strength to give it away… he knew too well that he couldn't restock his stash anytime soon; being stuck as he was.

But he did it. He pushed the cannula into her neck; pushed down the plunger and gave to her the greatest gift he was capable of.

He witnessed how the drug affected her. At first there was no change… and he felt himself regretting wasting something so valuable… but then her body started to relax. Every muscle seemed to release one by one and she even mustered a small smile before she fell back under.

Oh how he envied her then.

…

Hours passed. He found a book to read but he found himself putting it down every time he tried to open it. He couldn't focus on the letters as they danced before his eyes.

'Loser Lucy' – he heard the ghosts of those whispers he couldn't overhear. If only he had! And if only he hadn't walked past that room that night… if only.

If only he had been brave enough.

He shook his head; getting on his feet again. He went to her and carefully unwrapped the blanket. She was burning hot to the touch.

Putting the blanket aside she laid there; peaceful. Vulnerable.

Not trusting his instincts, he carefully took hold of her wrist to test her pulse.

The very image he had time and time again tried to erase from his memory flashed before his eyes.

 _Her outstretched arm; and a larger hand gripping her small wrist hard; pinning her to the floor._

 _It was the first thing he registered as he walked past that room; where the door was left ajar. He stopped and saw more than he probably should have._

"Lucy" he gasped involuntarily and let her wrist drop back onto the bed.

He felt bile fill up his stomach and work its way up his throat; and without a thought he bolted towards the bathroom; spewing it into the toilet bowl.

After washing himself up he reluctantly made it back to his room. She was still laying on her back; fast asleep. The morphine had done its job on her.

He had calculated the dosage quite well; perhaps a little high… but not too high.

He slid back to the floor where he had been before. He hung his head in his hands.

He should have done something then… he really should have.

Time passed; night turned into day and the sunlight lit up the room; the rays bouncing off of the snow made it seem even brighter. Mercilessly bright and cold.

Neither of them had moved.

Sherlock had been busy though; trying to stop the endless reel of that gruesome scene.

Lucy once again startled him by making a sound. She was waking up with a groan; choking on her own breath. She was trying to sit up but found it difficult.

Her pupils dilated when she saw him; realizing she wasn't alone.

"Where am I?" she gasped; scanning her surroundings confused now she was finally lucid. "Ow!" her hand carefully padded at her nose that was still quite swollen.

"You're in my room, at the boarding school. I'm Sherlock" he let her know, overstepping a tiny bit of the coming conversation. "I found you outside…" he swallowed. "You were bleeding and in shock. I took care of you". He found no pride in his own words.

She hugged her arms as she sat up; trying to pull her torn dress higher up over her chest.

"I… I need to go home" her feet reached for the floor. Testing it; or rather her feet's ability to carry her.

"I'm not sure you should?" he spoke; still from the floor. "From what I managed to get out of you last night… home might be the last place you should be"

She rose to her feet and took small steps. Her body felt strangely light and her head was hazy.

"Lucy? wait" he got on his feet too. She turned to look at him; just as she had reached the door. "Stop." He ordered her; sprinting over to her; blocking the door for her.

She pushed herself against his slender body; pressing her lips hard onto his and closed her eyes. He reacted swiftly and put his hands on her arms pushing her away from him.

"No! Lucy!" he gasped in shock. "I'm not… not that" his eyes were wide with terror at what had just happened.

"It's okay. I don't mind" she sighed "Just be quick, okay? I will be a good girl. Just be fast so I can go home" she wasn't even looking at him as she spoke. He couldn't miss the fact that all emotion had left her voice at this point.

"Lucy…" he could barely breathe. His chest was rising and falling fast. "I know what those guys did… but I'm not one of them… I'm not like that" he continued desperately explaining to her.

"Then let me go" Her eyes now peered up at his. Effectively begging him.

"I'd like you to eat and drink something first, at least" he swallowed uncomfortably. This silly caring lark was far too new.

This whole thing was too messed up.

"I'm not hungry" tears were pressing behind her eyes and her lip was quivering.

Lucy was shivering and starting to lose her balance. Sherlock was quick to grab her and help her sit down on the bed before she fell.

"Let me go get you a glass of water and something to eat. I'll let you go when you've eaten" he looked directly into her eyes and reluctantly she nodded.

Leaving the room he softly closed the door and locked it behind him.

Quickly he ran to the kitchen and put together a simple sandwich and a glass of water; and rushed back.

He found her sitting where he left her… staring dead ahead of her. She didn't even jump when he entered; and it took her a while to register he was handing her a plate and a glass.

But she took it, and took a long sip of the water; moistening her throat.

She looked suspiciously at the sandwich and drew a sigh. Her appetite clearly wasn't there.

"Do… do they talk about me?" Her eyes peered up at him again; as he was now towering over her. "I mean… I don't remember you… and you say you know…" her eyes left him again; she seemingly tried to swallow her own words. "Do people know?"

"Only when they think they are alone…" he swallowed just as uncomfortably as she looked to be. "It has been happening for years?" he wondered, carefully.

She nodded, putting the plate and glass aside. She was wringing her own wrists in what seemed to be a nervous tick.

"You were just a child when it started, then?" he spoke the horrible words.

She confirmed it with a nod.

"But… why do you keep coming back? Why did you run here last night? Of all places?" he let himself slide back to the floor where he had been sitting most of last night.

As little as he wanted to have this conversation; he couldn't make sense of it. And he didn't like not knowing.

"Are you asking if I like it?" something in her changed. She had put on a mask. "no…" she chewed on her lip

"No!" he gasped. No that was certainly not what he had implied.

"I learned to survive it…" she drew a sharp breath in and pushed it back out through her teeth. "I created a sort of palace in my mind… I withdraw myself to that, and I don't even feel it anymore. I've got a whole world in my head by now"

She seemed to be speaking to the wall next to him; confessing.

"Palace?" he wondered. "A sort of mind… palace?" he blinked. "Is that the same as a mind map?"

"I suppose" she shrugged. "I've got rooms there… I keep things. Things I want to remember… things I don't. At first it was just stories. I would tell myself a happy story…".

He was listening intently now. He had been cultivating his own mind map and the thought of creating a building; knowing well about the rooms where he could file information, and the rooms he could fill with useless things and lock them forever…

"I… I'm good at that… so I suppose…" she was back at wringing her wrists. "You know; one of the first times they brought another girl. She was so afraid…. Every time they touched her she started crying. I decided to be brave; for her… I figured if I let them do things to me and I was being a good girl they would leave her alone. And I agreed I wouldn't want that to happen again. So yes. I keep coming back… because if they can't have me they will find someone else… Someone who can't disappear like I can"

His stomach was in knots.

"Someone has to be Loser Lucy… and I'm good at it" she sighed; and reached for the water. The way she drank from it looked more like an alcoholic washing down her sorrows.

Demonstratively she grabbed the plate and started biting off of the sandwich. She was in a hurry to leave… and most likely hoping he would keep to his promise of letting her go once she had eaten.

She got no reply from him. He couldn't even move.

Finally finished; and trying to hold the food down she got back on her feet; steering towards the door.

"Thank you for the food" she told him; curtly. He was slowly coming back to life and staggered to his feet.

"Take my coat, at least" he sighed "I could walk you home?" He was digging deep within himself on how to handle this situation and the information he had been given.

"I'm in enough trouble as it is… but thank you" she hugged her arms. "I don't live that far away. I should be okay; you'll need the coat yourself" she smiled weakly and walked through the door. He fell back against the wall… feeling the full effect of what the night and morning had done to him.

He went to the window and watched her walk across the snow-covered lawn; fleeing into the distance…

…

"How dare you?" The woman stood up; shivering violently. "How the hell? How dare you come in here… What kind of story is that even?"

The man looked carefully at her; ruffling his dark curls confused by her outburst.

"I have been looking for you" he continued. "Lucinda, or should I say Lucy?" his eyes narrowed in on hers. "Mycroft was quite thorough when he built you a new identity…"

"Mycroft?" she stuttered confused.

"My brother" he snarled at the word.

"So… you. You got me out of there?" the woman shook her head. "You got me into that school and got me that scholarship I never applied for?"

"My brother sorted it… after I made him…" he flipped the collar up on his Belstaff.

"And now you expect me to thank you?" her face contorted in something he could only interpret as anger.

But why?

"Who replaced me? Did you help her too? And the next one?" she crossed her arms over her chest.

"No one did" his eyes widened. "Lucy. I made sure… those boys that… that… ehm… they got their own thing coming" he was stuttering by now. He had not anticipated this response.

"Okay. Thank you, then" she coldly told him. "Is that what you came for?"

"No. I need to ask you something..." he seemed embarrassed. Her eyes widened. Her anger was returning.

"Okay, one question" she was doing what she could to control her fury. She was trying to establish her position of strength.

"How did you shut your body down. How did you do it? How could you not feel it?" he spoke as softly as he could. "How did you do that without needing …. drugs?"

"I don't know. Honestly" she heaved a deep sigh. "It was the only way to survive; so I just did it… And I've spent a lifetime trying to feel anything since then" the woman admitted "Now, if you'll have me excused… you're not even supposed to be in here. I thought the MI5 had better security than this" she rolled her eyes.

"I have my ways…" he winked his eye at her. "Merry Christmas, Lucy".

And with that he was gone. The ghost of a Christmas past.


End file.
